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“He’s not a very good friend,” she says breathlessly.
I step closer to her, mindful of the fact that the cameras are on and live. “I think you’re lying, lemons. What’s that in your hand?”
She looks down at the brown bag clutched in her fist, almost as if she’s surprised to find it there. “Oh, um… nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing. Looks like something you paid a good amount of money for. And that probably means you’re not supposed to have it.” I reach out to grab the bag, but she snatches it behind her back.
“It’s not for me, it’s for Arlo,” she says in a rush. “He’s… he’s sick. He needs it.”
So Arlo’s a drug addict? My brow wrinkles as I consider it. I haven’t seen any sign of addiction since I’ve been here… or have I? Now that I think about it, he looked sweaty and flushed tonight. His stomach was cramping. Could it be withdrawal?
In prison, I’ve run across all kinds of addicts. The one thing they all had in common was that they were trying their best. Addiction is no joke, and recovery is a long road. If that’s something Arlo needs, maybe I can help him get through it. I could stay with him, make sure he gets the support he needs…
I push the thought away savagely. What the fuck does he need my help for? He has a job, and presumably a home. Someone else can help the asshole out.
“Give me the bag,” I say to Haven.
She hesitates. I can see the omega urge to obey, warring with her better angels. Finally, she shakes her head. “No.”
I growl and step closer, surprised to notice the strong smell of soap rising off of her. It wasn’t there earlier. Strange.
“Haven, give me the drugs. You and I both know they won’t help Arlo get better in the long run. He needs to find another way.”
Haven shakes her head. “You don’t understand…” she starts, but I reach out and grab the bag from behind her back before she can say any more.
I stride down the hallway to the main bathroom, and flip up the toilet lid.
“Reese, don’t!” Haven shouts, but I don’t listen. I dump the whole bottle of pills into the bowl and hit the flusher.
The alarm sounds then, signifying the end of another night on camera. Both of us look up in surprise, having forgotten we were being filmed.
“Go to bed,” I instruct Haven. “I’ll deal with Arlo.”
Haven hesitates and then sighs. “He’s sleeping now. Just… let him be for a few hours. We can talk to him when we wake up. Ok?”
I clench my jaw, but then nod. “All right.”
Haven steps closer. “Promise me?”
“I promise,” I grumble. “Go to bed now.”
She gives me a little hug, her scent wafting around me and making me hard as a rock, and then she goes to bed.
I pace the length of my small room through dawn and early morning. Who the fuck does he think he is, getting drugs sent here? And having Haven handle it? That guy was absolutely not trustworthy, and now he knows the location of a fucking omega. Anything could happen to her, and it would be his fault. Sure, I can protect her as long as we’re here, but Arlo has put her in unnecessary danger.
I try to sleep for a few hours, but I don’t have much success. The sun is starting to set by the time I decide I can’t take it any longer. We still have a few hours before we’ll have to go on air, and I want to get everything out in the open with Arlo before that happens.
I open my door, intending to have it out with Arlo. As soon as I step over the threshold into the living room, I’m blasted in the face with an impossibly delicious omega scent.
The thing is… it isn’t lemons. It’s more masculine than that, and more wild. Like a storm over a forest.
Following my nose down the hall, I find myself outside Arlo’s door. Does he have an omega in there with him? I listen at the door for a moment; I can hear him in there. His low groan doesn’t sound like pain; it sounds like pleasure. The noise makes my whole body clench, my cock thickening despite myself.
He’s whispering. I hear Haven’s name, which makes me grit my teeth, though I can’t scent her at all. And then, much to my shock, I hear my own name, followed by a low curse. Without thinking, I reach for the knob, twisting it and pushing the door open with a single gesture.
There is Arlo, sitting on the edge of his bed, his cock in his hand. We stare at each other for a moment before I step into the room and slam the door behind me.
“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” I snarl at him.
